Portrait
by Reminscees
Summary: "Did you think of a name?" Tooru asked. Hajime shrugged. "If it doesn't bloom it won't matter." he replied.
_**PORTRAIT**_

In the spring, Hajime bought a plant. He hadn't known why, he never wanted to own one before. The last time he did, his mother always watered it, and regardless, it died after three weeks, or something, and so it was strange for him to end up walking home with one in his arms, one with white buds about to blossom, if he gave them the chance, and large petals, shades of green and yellow woven in them. Tooru laughed when he saw the bare pot, plastic and mundane, perched on Hajime's window, and he ended up staying the night, and then the whole weekend. He did that often, nowadays, ever since Hajime had gotten his own apartment, and all, even though they both were busy with course work and the beginning of the new term.

"It looks sort of off, don't you think?" Tooru asked in the morning, nursing a cup for sweet coffee, standing in the kitchen wearing sweatpants and his glasses and a t-shirt that is far too lose.

Hajime shrugged and rubbed sleep out of his eyes.

"Is that mine?" he asked, tugging at the shirt and running his hand through the hair on Tooru's nape.

"Yeah, I couldn't find mine."

Hajime hummed agreeably. Tooru's skin was warm and smooth, and the blinds of Hajime's window created lines of sunlight across the kitchen tiles and scathed along Tooru's lean body. Hajime yawned, and Tooru offered him his mug. Hajime brought it to his lips, and it was awfully sweet. He almost retched.

"'s awful," he mumbled.

Tooru laughed softly.

"It's an acquired taste." he said, and Hajime let his head rest in the crook of Tooru's shoulder, drawing nonsense patterns on his skin.

"You should stay." Hajime said, "If you want to, of course."

Tooru took a sip of his coffee over the top of Hajime's head.

"Yeah." he said, and neither of them was looking at the other. Hajime wasn't sure whether he agreed or not, but it was still early in the morning and Tooru's skin was soft and warm.

"You should water your baby," Tooru said.

"My _what_?" Hajime asked, raising his head to stare at Tooru. He was grinning, now.

"Your _plant_ ," he answers with a laugh. Hajime felt his mouth twitch oddly to one side, in an almost smile, and then he left to go water it, with a water bottle, since that worked better than a glass, and he didn't think he was sort it to buy a watering can because he bought it on a whim, and besides, the plant would only last a week or so, wouldn't it?

Hajime wasn't one for permanence, and that was fine, since Tooru wasn't one for promises of forever-and-always either. Hajime loved Tooru. He'd die for him. Tooru thought the same, too. He'd destroy the whole world for Hajime, he told him so, once, hushed under the blue blanket of darkness.

Hajime sighed and shook his head, and then watered the plant, droplets of water falling down the leaves.

"I hope you make it, buddy," he told it.

He stared at the plant, as though he expected it to answer. It hadn't blossomed yet.

"I should name you. What do you—"

"Are you talking to it?"

Hajime almost flinched. He turned around, far too fast, and knocked down the water bottle. It fell off the window sill, down into the depth of the streets beside his apartment.

There was nothing he could say.

"You were, weren't you?" Tooru teased.

"I'm not, shut up—"

"It's sweet, Hajime," he said, smiling sweetly and leaning against the wall, " _You're_ sweet."

Hajime bit his lip and stared down at the floor, blushing and clenching his fist. Tooru said things like that sometimes, things that made his heart ache and things that made it hard to breathe. It made him sort of angry, almost, since it was only Tooru and only ever Tooru that could make him feel things like that, things he never felt before and things he never thought he'd feel.

"Shut up," he said once more, before wrapping his arms around Tooru's waist and kissing his cheek, down to his jaw, and Tooru laughed and leaned back, smiling lopsidedly and entirely lazily.

"You should give it a proper name." Tooru said.

"I'll name it Tooru," Hajime replied, "It sort of looks like you."

Tooru huffed in annoyance.

"In what way does it look like me?" he asked.

"It's a little too skinny, and sort of tall," Hajime teased, "It's pale, you're pale— there's quite a lot of similarities between the two of you."

"It's a _plant_ , Hajime." Tooru replied, though Hajime couldn't help but feel that it wasn't _just_ a plant after all.

In that moment, with Tooru in his arms and with the sun shining over them in his— no, _their_ — tiny apartment, high above the city, he couldn't help but think that there was far more to everything between them and everything they did or said. It felt as though there was this colossal significance or some guardian deity watching them, some authoritarian holiness present. It felt real and entirely domestic and permanent.

"I'll bring you another one next time," Tooru said, "One that blossoms, some sort of flower, maybe. You need some colour in here, don't you think?"

He never did.

Months passed. It was summer, now, and neither he nor Tooru had the time to see each other that often. Tooru hadn't spent the night in weeks. Hajime felt this urge deep inside of him, in the depths of the blue night, standing in his kitchen, sipping highly-caffeinated coffee in a desperation for the energy to finish some sort of paper or report, as he stared at the plant, leaves drooping slowly, since Hajime had forgotten to water it with the stress of university work, and all, he realised that he missed Tooru. He forced himself to not take the train right there and then in the middle of the night.

It was midnight, then, and in the distance, some bells signalled it, entirely ominous. Hajime sighed and set his mug down. He took a glass of water and poured it into the dark soil of the plant. He bit his lip and stared down at it.

On the counter, his phone buzzed.

' _u up?_ '

It was Tooru. He always said things like that, even though Hajime had told him to fix his spelling, it was getting embarrassing, he was supposed to be a serious law student. Tooru thought the whole thing was hilarious.

(It was.)

' _yeah_ ' Hajime replied.

' _are you busy?_ ' Tooru typed. Hajime was sort of taken aback by the use of correct grammar, and the absence of acronyms. He almost felt a pang of worry. It seemed too serious.

' _not really. why?_ '

Hajime set his phone down. He stared at his lock screen. It was a photograph of Tooru, one he'd taken without him looking, and it was a little blurry. Tooru was sitting with his back turned to the camera, looking at the metro train which had just arrived, zooming past them with the brute excitement that the city brought. Tooru's hair moved in the wind, and his skin looked so pale in the light. It was a nice photo of him, really, even if it didn't show his face. It had this sense of anonymity to it, as though it could be someone else instead, but the fact that Tooru had then turned around and laughed wildly at the fact that Hajime had taken photographs of him. He said it was too romantic for Hajime, and that it was hilarious, really. Hajime had taken seven more photographs after that, of Tooru turning his head and laughing. They were all blurry, too, since Hajime had started laughing, too, the sound bursting out deep from within his chest.

He stared at his screen and watched it turn black. He wondered why he hadn't chosen any of the ones with Tooru smiling brightly into the camera.

His poured the rest of his coffee and the water for the plant down the drain. He paced around, then, subconsciously waiting for a reply from Tooru, and a second later, he received not a message, but a call.

"Hey, Hajime," Tooru said, voice almost quiet. It seemed shy and hesitant.

"Good morning," Hajime joked. Tooru didn't laugh. The line went silent.

"Why are you calling me—" Hajime began.

"Do I need a reason?" Tooru interrupted. He didn't sound offended, he only sounded vulnerable, insecure, and horrifically similar to the Tooru Hajime used to know, the one who was seventeen and smoked and listened to music Hajime never quiet understood.

"No," he answered, "You don't." he cleared his throat before asking, "What are you doing?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah,"

"Nothing much,"

Hajime paused, then, and picked at the edge of his counter top.

"It's late." he said.

"Yeah," Tooru replied, as though he hadn't known it was.

"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" Hajime asked.

"I can't."

That wasn't new. Tooru had this insomnia, it wasn't chronic, or anything, it was only sometimes. He over-thought things, and then he panicked and it was horrible to see him like that, not able to move or breathe or speak, sometimes he got nosebleeds, too, and Hajime felt his heart clench of the memory of waking up in the middle of the night to Tooru's ragged breaths and seeing blood stains on the white bed sheets, blooming like poppies.

"Do you want me to come over?" Hajime asked, voice rough with sudden fatigue, running a hand across his face.

"It's fine," Tooru said, "I just wanted to hear your voice."

"I—"

"Hajime," Tooru interrupted. His voice was broken, and yet, it still sounded strong, and brutally honest.

"Sorry," Hajime said, "I'll— sure. Do you want to talk about something else?"

Tooru answered after a pause.

"Yeah," he said, in this breathy murmur of his, the one only Hajime heard.

Hajime slid down on the floor.

"Okay," he said, "Where would you go if you could go anywhere in the whole world— right now?"

"Just like that?"

"Yeah," Hajime said, falling onto his back. He stared at the ceiling, at its cracks, the ones so deep that he could even see them in the darkness of the night.

"I'd want to be by your side," Tooru whispered. His voice caught.

Hajime almost dropped his phone onto the tiles. He sighed Tooru's name, as though it were a prayer, and inhaled shakily.

"I'd do that, too," he said, "I'd go with you, though. I'd be right there beside you."

Tooru sniffed. It crackled in the line.

"Where would you travel to?" Tooru asked.

Hajime licked his lips.

"I'd go up north, where you can see the northern lights," he said, "It looks amazing. They're sort of like nocturnal rainbows. We'd go there, and just lie down, staring up at them. I think you'd like them."

"I think I would," Tooru said. Hajime smiled softly up at the ceiling.

"It'd be cold, though," he said, "You'd complain all the time."

Tooru laughed quietly.

"I would," said Tooru, "Still— I'd like to go there with you."

Hajime grinned, slowly, and then all at once.

"Me too," he said.

That weekend, Tooru's body was warm against his. Tooru was asleep, and it was early afternoon. Hajime couldn't bring himself to care, though, since it was Saturday, and the buzz and sharp cut of finals had passed them both, shaving them bare, down to the bones.

Hajime could feel his heart beat flutter against his, steadily. Hajime's own pulse mirrored his, which was strange, since he used to be so damn nervous around Tooru, and now, he seemed to calm him down, and Hajime had the same effect on him. Hajime pulled him down, back to earth, when Tooru floated up into the sky, and threatened to fly away completely into dark oblivion.

Hajime watched him. He was really pretty, objectively said, all smooth skin and symmetrical features, dark brown large eyes, eyes that made him seem a lot younger than he really was. His face was lean and slim, and his neck was long, and Hajime couldn't stop himself from tracing the line of his jaw, so softly it ached.

Tooru was gorgeous, sure, but he was a lot more than that. He had these layers, these details hidden beneath long eyelashes and soft hair. Tooru has soft freckles, ones only Hajime knew where there, and he had moles on his back, and as Hajime blinked down at his slack, relaxed face, he really did look so much younger.

Hajime liked looking at Tooru. He was nice to look at. He liked looking at him in these quiet moments, before he woke up, or when he was unaware of his gaze, staring into the distance. He looked honest and vulnerable and lost and sort of ethereal, yet human. He was full of crevices and depths and corners that Hajime had yet to travel through.

Hajime suddenly felt the urge to burn the image of Tooru sleeping next to him deep into his memory, as though he'd forget it in a second. He wanted to remember and memorise every detail of him, everything he ever was and ever will be, from the worn and bitten cuticles of his nails to the scars of his surgery on his knee, the ones he swore sometimes still ached, a phantom pain to a phantom past.

Hajime wanted to commit every part of Tooru to his memory, corporeal or not. He wanted to store them, to lock them, to look back at them when he was old and wise and no longer so vulnerable, so that he could tell himself that he had once held something truly beautiful.

Tooru stirred awake, then, and the spell was ruined.

"You're staring at me," he said, voice rough. Hajime smiled lopsidedly.

"I love staring at you," he replied, since he could say things like that, now.

"It's too early for this," Tooru groaned and stretched, arching his back and raising his hands above his head.

"Too early for what?"

"Flattery," Tooru sighed, " _Romance_ ," he sneered, as though it were a curse, "When did you get so romantic, Hajime?"

Hajime bit back a smile and kissed at Tooru's neck, tangling a hand into his hair and Tooru wrapped his arms around Hajime's shoulders, pulling him towards him. He intertwined his legs with him, and, suddenly, Hajime felt as though they were whole, now. He felt at home, which was strange, since he _was_ at home, he always had been. It was his apartment, after all, though this was different. Home wasn't a place; it was a person, and Tooru was home.

Sunlight flickered through the blinds, and Tooru's body was painted with thin, parallel stripes of white. Hajime fell back to lie beside him and slid his hands, rough and tan and worn, over the pale and smooth expanse of Tooru's chest. Tooru hummed softly, and then rolled over onto his back, hands pushed underneath his pillow. He smiled up at Hajime.

Hajime traced Tooru's spine, fingers brushing over the moles of his skin. He kissed his shoulder.

"This one sort of looks like Gemini," he said, tracing a pattern across Tooru's shoulder blades.

"It does not," Tooru laughed, "How would you that?"

"It's my constellation," said Hajime, "I know what it looks like. It looks like two people holding hands, or something."

"Fine, then. I guess we were meant to be." Tooru said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Hajime pressed his fingers into Tooru's spine, and could feel his muscles relax underneath his touch. He didn't know what to say, and that was fine, since Tooru simply exhaled slowly. Hajime rested his cheek against the centre of Tooru's back. He could feel Tooru breathe, and how his ribs rippled with each inhale, slow and steady, and in that moment, Hajime truly thought that he could never have enough of looking at Tooru, or touching him, or kissing him, or loving him.

Hajime closed his eyes, and suddenly, he was transported back to the first time they met, all those years ago, and he could have cried, then and there. He could hear Tooru's heartbeat, and his chest almost burst with sheer adoration and undeniable, deep love for him.

Around them, life carried on, in the city, though none of that mattered. The rush of the traffic could still be heard, and a car passed playing loud music, low bass rumbling through the walls of the flat, yet all of that was forgotten. All Hajime could think about was Tooru, and how it felt to be close to him right here and now, and how each time he saw him, he forgot everything he waited to tell him in the blink of an eye, since all that mattered was the present.

Hajime exhaled shakily and hid his blushing face in Tooru's back, and Tooru laughed lowly, once, propping himself up to rest on his elbows, chin in the palm of his hand. Hajime turned his head to stare up at Tooru, frowning a little, since Tooru had made him feel sickly romantic this early in the morning, and he met his gaze, fond, with a soft smile. Hajime sighed, then, and smiled back, a little lopsidedly, with his cheek pressed into Tooru's back.

He kissed up Tooru's spine, then, slow at first, cherishing the smooth expanse of his skin, then chaste, quick kisses, the kind that tickled. Tooru giggled, then, laughing, and he pushed him onto his back, smiling up at him, like he was a miracle. Hajime stared down at him, and he thought that Tooru certainly _was_ a miracle.

He rested his forehead against Tooru's then, and Tooru opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but then he closed it. Hajime tangled his fingers into his hair and brushed it behind his ears.

Tooru licked his lips, then, and looked up at Hajime with such fondness Hajime thought he could cry once more.

"I wish I'd done everything on earth with you." said Tooru, voice quiet.

Hajime didn't know what to reply. There was this hidden fragility to Tooru, underneath that facade of his. All Hajime do was tighten his hold on Tooru and kiss him, deeply, on his open mouth. Tooru bowed towards him, arched into him, and Hajime traced Tooru's sides, up and down, hands never ceasing, as though if he stopped holding onto Tooru, he'd fall apart, or disappear into thin air.

They didn't speak to each other that morning after that.

There was no need to; all they had to do was keep holding onto each other, and they did.

Weeks later, Hajime had gotten out of the shower, and he pulled on some old t-shirt and loose sweatpants, and he tapped into the kitchen. He found Tooru there, too, wearing boxers and one of Hajime's sweatshirts, looking outside, hands wrapped around a coffee mug. The sight made Hajime's chest tighten painfully. Tooru looked so domestic, so comfortable, so at ease, like that, and it meant embarrassingly a lot to Hajime, since Tooru wasn't one for domesticity and all. He was a mystery, a raving avenger of adolescence, and he seemed to be like one of those sparks, the kind that hurt your eyes and burn like Roman candles, and then disappear into darkness, leaving nothing but the faint smell of smoke in its wake.

It was nice, to see Tooru like this, all pulled apart and simply comfortable, without some facade or mask. He felt as though Tooru trusted him, since he allowed him to see him like this, with brute honesty. Tooru's trust meant a lot him. It made him feel loved, even if it sometimes was difficult, like Hajime were simply deluding himself, since he could never truly love Tooru in the way he probably ached to be loved, with astonishment and grand gestures, bouquets of roses and romantic candlelight dinners. All Hajime had to offer was a small apartment, with a horrid mattress and a sofa that was more foam than fabric, and one sad looking plant that simply wasn't blossoming.

In moments like these, Hajime had to force himself to remember the quiet times and small gestures and forget about the moments he felt alone despite being close to Tooru, since he was so closed up and all, or all the arguments they had, and how frustrating Tooru could be, since he was so damn good at fighting with Hajime. He had to think of the feeling of Tooru's hand in his, and how soft his lips were, and how he arched towards Hajime, his body seeking his, and how his smile was lopsided and childish when Hajime kissed him.

Those thoughts made Hajime blush, and he sat down on the more foam than fabric sofa, the one in front of the window. He spread his arms over the back of the furniture, and stared at Tooru's back, at the nape of his neck, where his hair was thin and soft and a little curly. The sun was setting, and the room was basked in shades of orange. Tooru pushed his hair behind his ears and sighs. He looked almost sad, expression sombre, and then he turned around. He jumped a little, eyes wide, as though he was surprised to see Hajime.

Hajime frowned and raised an eyebrow.

"You're staring at me again, Hajime." said Tooru. He smiled a little, though it wavered.

Hajime shrugged and looked everywhere but at him.

"Is that a problem?" he asked.

"No," Tooru said, voice quiet. He could see right through him, he always could, and in moments like these, Hajime wondered why he could ever doubt that any of this would last, or work, or even think that Tooru would leave him for someone better, someone who could love him the way he wanted to be loved.

"Do you think I'm a good person?" Hajime asked.

Tooru looked taken aback.

"I think you are." he said.

"Do you, though? Do you really?"

Tooru laughed.

"Where is all this coming from?" he said.

Hajime shrugged.

Tooru sighed, and walked over to sit next to him on the couch, long legs thrown over Hajime's lap.

"The truth of the matter is to live a good life, as a good person, and it doesn't matter how you get there," said Tooru, burying his face in Hajime's neck, "It just matters that you do."

Hajime slid his hands across skinny arms and bony shoulders, and suddenly, he was painfully aware of Tooru's proximity, and he wanted to tell him so many things, all his insecurities, and how difficult it felt sometimes, not being able to be completely honest, and how scared he was of losing Tooru or driving him away, and how much he loved him.

He exhaled shakily, and then swallowed, lips pressed tightly together. He wrapped his arms around Tooru's body, and Tooru slumped into him, moulded into him, then they were silent once more.

"I don't think it's going to bloom," Tooru said.

Hajime frowned. He eyed the plant. There were some buds here and there, but they hadn't developed into anything yet.

"I'll buy another one," said Hajime, "I mean, if you want one that blooms."

"I like this one," Tooru said defensively. He watered it a little before stepping back and leaning against the wall.

"Did you think of a name?" Tooru asked.

Hajime shrugged.

"If it doesn't bloom it won't matter." he replied.

"I think it does," said Tooru, "You should think of one."

He never does.

The bedroom was immersed in silence and outside, the sun was setting, and it left the room in this pale blue from the neon lights outside of Hajime's window, from the billboards and advertisements of the city. Tooru lay in between Hajime's legs, on the sofa, and he was reading.

"What're you reading?" Hajime murmured against his scalp, arms wrapped around him.

"Just something an old friend of mine liked a lot."

Hajime hummed in agreement. He peered over Tooru's shoulder so catch the title of the work: _The Great Gatsby_. He recognised the title, sure, from that film that came out some years ago.

"I didn't know you could read that well in English." Hajime said. Tooru looked up from his page, and soothed it out with the palm of his hand.

"I can," he replied, "I had to. I was scouted by some American college in high-school."

Hajime rested his hands on Tooru's thighs, and then trailed one hand down to his knee, the one with the scars and painful indentions and marks, scattered across his pale skin like watercolours and smudged pencil. Tooru bit the side of his lip. He didn't often speak about his injury, or the misadventure of his surgeries to try to fix it.

"So," Hajime said lowly, "What's it about?"

"Love," he replied, "It's about how sometimes, people fall in love with the idea of someone, and then, once they're with them, they struggle, since they never understood what kind of monster some people can turn into, and then they fall out of love."

"Out of love?"

"Yeah," he answered quietly, "Out of love; just like that."

Tooru fell silent, then, and Hajime pressed his cheek into Tooru's hair, down the side of his face, cheekbone digging into his jaw.

"I like the cover." he murmured, and Tooru turned it over to look down at it. It showed these eyes, fragile and drooping and incredibly sad, filled with this raw desperation that only came from crying, as the figure did, with one single tear, sliding elegantly down the paper.

Tooru shrugged, then, and fell silent once more. It was strange that he was just lying there, resting in Hajime's arms, entirely still, though, at the same time, Hajime wasn't surprised. Tooru could go from a hundred miles an hour to absolute standstill in the blink of an eye.

"We should go away over summer, to the beach, or something." Hajime murmured.

Tooru hummed in agreement and turned over the page.

"I'd like that." he said, and Hajime smiled, a soft, fond curve spreading across his lips.

It felt out of place, in a way, yet it was natural and genuine and it was the easiest thing to do in the whole world, as if he was supposed to have always done this and only ever done this, holding Tooru close to him and feeling his breath and rise and fall of his chest.

He wondered whether he was born to meet him, and have Tooru do these things to him, make his throat constrict and pulse flutter, and make him smile in that way and feel like his body was too small for his elation. He felt enormous, as though his skin were too tight.

It felt as though everything were decided long ago. It felt as though they were supposed to be together, despite all the odds stacked against them from the start.

Hajime squeezed Tooru tighter, unconsciously, until he felt Tooru splutter and cough a little.

"Sorry," he said, voice hesitant.

"It's fine," Tooru laughed, "You didn't break my ribs. They're not that soft."

Hajime snorted.

"I could snap you in half. I could break you." he murmured.

"I know. I'd let you." Tooru smiled lopsidedly, teeth white and glowing in the dim light.

The year droned on, and the next time Hajime saw Tooru was in the depth of the night, on a Tuesday. Tuesdays were always bad for Tooru, he had an ethics class, and then some lectures about family law, and those were always tough. He was too invested in others far too easily. He absorbed the problems of others like some sponge, and he tried to solve them in desperation with misplaced certainty and innate maturity, and then he bottled them up, sealed them tightly deep inside of him. It wasn't a surprise to find that sometimes they spilled over, ate him from the inside out, the glass of the container breaking and cutting inside of him.

Tooru let himself in. Hajime had given him a copy of his key a long while ago, and he heard the door unlock and Tooru's footsteps grew louder until he felt a dip in the mattress. Tooru dropped his bag, loudly, and crawled across the bed, sniffling a little, breath ragged.

Hajime rolled over, and opened his eyes, blinking once or twice to adjust to the darkness. Tooru's hair was a mess, and his glasses were skewed on his nose, small and triangular. In the dim light, his skin looked like it was glowing, reflecting the moonlight and the bright advertisements from outside of the apartment.

"I'm sorry." Tooru said, and Hajime reached out towards him, pulling him closer. He roamed his fingers over Tooru's back, underneath his shirt, following the indentations of his spine. Hajime hummed in agreement, voice low and rough with sleep.

Tooru sighed, then, and straddled his hips, bending down to rest his forehead against Hajime's.

"'s fine," Hajime slurred, after a while, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Tooru's ear. Tooru sighed, raggedly and chest-achingly deeply, closing his eyes slowly.

"Can I stay over?"

"What— what're you talking about— you don't have to ask," Hajime replied, and a breathy laugh escaped his lips.

"Sorry." Tooru said, and Hajime scratched at Tooru's neck, soothingly.

"We can talk, if you want," he said.

"You can barely keep your eyes open." Tooru replied, and there was a hint of fondness in his tone, one that made Hajime's pulse quicken.

"It's fine," he said once more.

Tooru hesitated shortly.

"I lost," he said, "I lost a case, I mean, at the clinic."

"Which one?" Hajime asked. Tooru worked part-time at a desperately underfunded governmental law organisation, it wasn't even a firm, or anything, just this group of offices handling a kaleidoscope of cases concerning state appointed lawyers or advisors.

Tooru swallowed thickly.

"The one with the Bangladeshi family," he said, quietly, "I lost. They'll be deported this Monday."

"Oh," Hajime replied, and there was nothing else he could have said, truthfully. It was too complex for him, too grey and muddy, colours all swirled together in a mess of law and politics and ethics. Tooru loved it. Otherwise, he would not still be doing it.

Hajime never comprehended it. He was a simple man. He believed in this disparity, this sense of good and evil, of heroes and villains, of right and wrong.

Tooru stopped believing in that a long while ago and perhaps that was what made him so good at what he did. He not only knew what he was doing, but he _understood_ it, deeply and complexly. He knew there was evil out there, and he understood it. He'd shaken hands with it behind closed doors, he'd made it sign contracts, he'd smiled politely at it and charmed it with those bright canines of his.

It was hard. It killed him, from the inside out, slowly and surely. It'd be the death of him, and all Hajime could do was pull Tooru down on top of him, Tooru's head resting on his chest. He wrapped his arms around him, and took his glasses off of his nose, placing them on the nightstand.

"Tell me if I'm too heavy," Tooru hushed, quietly, and Hajime felt his body relax at his side.

"You weight almost nothing," Hajime said, kissing the crown of his head, "Just go to sleep, Tooru."

And he did. It was as simple as that.

The next morning, Hajime had just brushed his teeth and was heading towards the kitchen when he caught Tooru standing there, holding his mug of far too sweet coffee, staring at the windowsill and the potted plant that lay there.

"I think the plant is blossoming," he said.

Hajime frowned and ran a hand through his hair, mind muddy and numb with fatigue.

"What?" he grumbled.

"The plant is blossoming," Tooru repeated, turning his head to look at Hajime. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was pale and frail, almost like porcelain, and Hajime thought that, if he really tried, he could shatter it into a million small pieces, just like that.

Hajime placed a hand on Tooru's hip, where his sweatpants ended and shirt began, on the strip of bare skin, warm underneath his fingers. Hajime stared down at the small buds of the flower, pale petals enlaced together, and it looked so fragile and delicate he felt proud, in a way, and smiled fondly.

"Weird," he said, knocking his head onto the side of Tooru's own, "I haven't watered it in over a week."

"I can't believe you forgot to feed your child," Tooru scoffed, and Hajime snorted.

"It looks nice, though," Hajime said.

"Yeah," Tooru replied, leaning towards Hajime's body and touch. There was a soft smile curling his lips upwards. Hajime looked at him, and he was so beautiful. Tooru turned his head, then, and stared back at him. They gazed at each other a long time, Hajime's bare feet were starting to get cold from the tiles of his kitchen, both of them smiling unconsciously, unintentionally, and so faintly and gently that it could have all been ruined in a split-second, through Tooru making some snarky, clever remark, or Hajime frowning and getting all embarrassed, but it wasn't. All Hajime could do was laugh quietly, breaking the contact to look at the buds.

"Welcome to the family," he said.

Tooru laughed, then, too.

"What're you going to name it?" he asked.

"What?"

"Name it," Tooru repeated, "You said you were going to name it."

Hajime shrugged.

"I don't know," he said, "I don't even know what type of plant it is."

"It's a hydrangea."

Hajime hummed in reply.

"I like it," he said once more, and Tooru titled his head back, resting it on Hajime's shoulder. They were quiet, for a moment, and Hajime could feel nothing but how Tooru's chest expanded and contracted against his own.

Their heartbeats synchronised, and he was completely connected with him, mentally and physically, and it reminded Hajime of the ocean, of the pull and push of the tide.

They beat on, against the current.


End file.
